


105. Back in the Playroom

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [105]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	105. Back in the Playroom

_**Sam and Ryan[](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/profile)**_[ **kwanten**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/): back in the playroom  
 **players only. takes place the day[after Sam and Ryan arrive home in L.A.](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/24053.html)**

With a sigh, Ryan piles a laundry basket high with clean clothes which are still warm from the dryer. They slept in, the suitcases have been completely unpacked, and he already made a run to the grocery store to stock up on some fresh essentials. He's planning a simple stir-fry for dinner, although he'd really rather order in. As much as he's missed being able to work in his own familiar kitchen, he'd been hoping he'd be in no shape to cook tonight... _You and I are gonna get re-acquainted with the playroom_ , Sam promised him last night. But it's late afternoon now, Ryan's been on edge for hours expecting a sudden order to get his ass in gear, and so far... nothing. Frowning, he carries the basket upstairs to the master bedroom. Could Sam have forgotten? He was pretty tired at the time, but still, it's unlikely. Given that it's Sam. Sam, who has been chattering away on his phone with his agent or publicist or someone for at least forty minutes already, and since when does he like to spend time on the phone?

Putting away the last folded t-shirt, Ryan shuts the bureau drawer. Then he pulls it open again. Might as well do something with all this fucking nervous energy, he figures, and strips down before pulling on his swim trunks.

Sam's still on the phone when Ryan walks through the living room. "Hey," he says, shifting the phone to his shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

Looking up at the sound of Sam's voice, Ryan is surprised to find the question was actually addressed to him, and not to whomever's monopolizing Sam on the line. "Surfing," he says, pointing out the French doors at the breakers beyond. A little confused, but he pauses with his hand on the doorknob, just in case his lover wants something. Food, maybe.

Sam grins and shakes his head, crooking a finger at Ryan. Here, _now_ , the gesture says, complete with that same finger pointed at a spot right in front of him, the phone tilted back to his mouth. "No, that's fine. Send it over. I'll look at it tomorrow."

Raising an eyebrow, Ryan turns away from the door and closes the distance between them until he is standing exactly where Sam pointed. He folds his arms across his chest to keep from doing anything stupid, like touching his lover when the man is clearly embroiled in some kind of business phone call. And he tries to be patient.

Sam drags out the phone call with his agent, letting Jimmy ramble on as long as he wants, his eyes locked on Ryan. Finally he picks up a pad of paper from the desk beside him and prints in block letters _Playroom. Naked. Put yourself on the cross._

Ryan inhales sharply as he reads Sam's instructions, then nods, barely meeting Sam's eyes before dashing away. He unlocks the playroom and brings all the lights up, taking a deep breath before he begins searching for the perfect set of cuffs.

Sam still doesn't rush. He's been dragging his ass all day, hoping to have Ryan completely on edge by the time he finally makes good on his promise from the night before. Plus there's a part of him that'd wondered whether Ryan would say anything or be patient and wait, no matter how badly he wanted it.

Right ankle, left ankle. And Ryan focuses on his breathing, not wanting to get carried away too early -- given that Sam isn't even in here with him yet. He stretches out his left arm and reaches over with his right to cuff his wrist. Three points is the best he can manage on his own. Now, pinned against the cross, his erection throbbing against the wood, he thinks he might just go mad. What if Sam has _more_ phone calls to make? What if Ryan just trapped himself in a massive mindfuck, and Sam's not planning on joining him in the playroom for _hours_? "Fuck," he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to slow his racing thoughts.

Sam slowly finishes up with Jimmy, assuring his agent he'll read through any scripts he sends him before the end of the month. He keeps checking his watch, allowing fifteen minutes for Ryan to get himself in place and then another fifteen for him to start to freak over whether Sam's going to join him and when.

Soon enough, Ryan's left shoulder is aching, and he's cursing himself for being a fool. But what else could he have done? When Sam says 'go', he goes. It's just how their relationship works, and he doesn't usually see it as a weakness. Today, though... He sighs and lets his head drop forward.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks, entering the room just in time to hear Ryan's sigh, see that slump. Ryan looks amazing, the smooth golden tan of his skin against the burnished wood of the cross. Sam's cock fills in an instant.

Startled, Ryan turns his head. "Was starting to wonder if you were really coming," he admits sheepishly. Now that Sam's here, though, excitement is already starting to race through his blood. He has no idea what's in store for him today. But it's been months since they've gotten to play hard.

"And if I hadn't?" Sam asks, curious, walking to the cross and fastening Ryan's free wrist into its cuff.

Ryan bites his lip but doesn't answer. He flexes his biceps, pulling at the cuffs for a moment before relaxing in satisfaction that they'll hold.

Sam grins. "You'd stay up here all day if I wanted you to, wouldn't you?" he says softly, pulling his t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the side.

"Yes," Ryan whispers, his cheeks flaming. God, that's fucked up.

"That's because you're my good boy, aren't you?" Sam continues, smiling, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from his jeans.

Ryan shuts his eyes, listening to the approval in Sam's voice. "Yes," he says again, even softer than before.

Sam drops his jeans but holds onto his belt. "Say it."

"Yes, Sir." Slowly, Ryan's shoulders start to relax, pride and a sense of peace beginning to flow through him. "I'm your good boy."

"Yes, you are," Sam murmurs, switching the belt from one hand to the other, his free hand run over Ryan's shoulders and back and down to his ass, fingers dipping between his cheeks. "My good boy and my dirty little slut."

Automatically Ryan pushes his hips back with a soft whimper, trying to get Sam's fingers right _there_. "Yes, Sir. Such a fucking slut for you."

Grinning, Sam rubs his fingers over Ryan's hole, pulling back every time Ryan shifts in an attempt to get more.

This time the whimper is louder, until finally Ryan bites his lip and goes still. He's always too fucking impatient, he knows. He needs to relax into whatever Sam wants to give him.

"Good boy." Sam folds the belt in two, tucking the buckle into his palm, and brings the doubled leather in against Ryan's ass. It's a nice easy blow, with a promise of more to come.

 _God. Yes._ Ryan licks his lips and flexes his fingers against the cross, struggling not to push back in a wordless plea for more.

Sam brings in the belt again and again, layering the blows. Watching as Ryan's skin starts to redden and glow. _Fucking beautiful._ His cock jerking, he hits a little harder, making sure every inch of Ryan's ass is covered, knowing this is only the beginning.

Ryan's breath hitches, tiny whimpers starting to fall from his lips. He doesn't even notice when his hips start rocking, moving with each harsh strike. The smooth rhythm is nearly meditative, taking him deeper.

Sam keeps using the belt until he's certain Ryan's ass would glow in the dark if he turned off the lights. And then he drops it with his clothes, taking a moment to grab that heated flesh and squeeze, his nails dug in hard, the cheeks spread, his eyes on Ryan's fluttering hole, before he lets go and steps back, going to the cabinets for a thick heavy flogger.

Ryan hisses at the sharp bite of nails, then relaxes as he hears Sam step away. He's spike-hard now, his arousal seeming to throb in time with the heat pulsing in his flesh.

Moving back into place behind Ryan, Sam hefts the flogger in his hand, getting used to the weight, before bringing it in against Ryan's shoulders.

Jerking away from the blow, Ryan cries out. Heat flares across his shoulders and he pulls at his wrist cuffs for a moment before he can make himself settle again. "God, yes," he moans.

The moan goes straight to Sam's cock and he brings the flogger in again, wanting more.

The heavy leather bites into Ryan's flesh again and again. Soon he's whimpering with every strike, feeling the blows reverberate throughout his body. He's beginning to drift, searing pain starting to fuzz around the edges.

Shoulders, back, ass. Sam layers the pain, the pleasure, blow after blow reddening skin, the colour turning from bright cherry to a deep dark sunburn, smears of blue starting to form beneath.

Ryan's shout is loud in his own ears, even as it seems to come from far away. He pulls against the wrist cuffs, hanging limp against the cross. Falling deep.

Aching for something more hands-on, Sam drops the flogger to join the belt. He steps in close, pressing hot skin to even hotter skin, rubbing his front over Ryan's back, his rigid cock nudging between Ryan's cheeks, the head hot and hard against his hole.

Moaning, Ryan pushes back against him. The heat of Sam's body feels like heavenly fire on abused flesh. "Please," he whispers, rubbing his ass against the hard length of Sam's cock. "Please. Need you."

"Not yet," Sam says, licking the sweat from the back of Ryan's neck, his cock thrust between Ryan's cheeks again and again, the friction so fucking good.

"Oh, god." Ryan is nearly delirious with pain and wanting. He struggles against his bonds now, needing to touch his lover. Desperate for more. "Please!"

Sam's cock throbs violently at the desperation in Ryan's voice and he nips at the same patch of skin, teasing his teeth over Ryan's shoulders before suddenly sinking them into that curve, that juncture between throat and shoulder.

" _Fuck!_ " Ryan jerks forward, slamming his cock against the cross. And he explodes with a howl, shudders rocking through his body.

Ryan's coming takes Sam by surprise but he grins, biting deeper, harder, fucking his cock between Ryan's cheeks until every last aftershock trembles through his lover's frame. And then he's got one hand in Ryan's hair, pulling his head back, mouth against his ear as he whispers, "I didn't say you could come, did I?"

"No, Sir," Ryan sobs out. _Fuck!_ He's so damn confused right now -- buried beneath a haze of pain, pleasure flowing liquid through his veins. Knowing he fucked up but not quite able to define the guilt.

"That's right, boy," Sam growls. "I didn't." Lining up his cock with Ryan's hole and pushing in with his free hand. "Which is why you're going to come for me again."

The sound Ryan makes is an animal groan. Fire slashes through him even as he pushes back for more, conditioning overriding instinct. He starts rocking on Sam's cock, impaling himself again and again. Every harsh breath torn from his lungs.

Sheathed inside Ryan, Sam slides his hand between skin and cross, wrapping his fingers firmly around Ryan's still-hard cock, working it, abusing it, shoving into him, driving into his hole, nothing held back.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Ryan whispers, wincing. He's too damn sensitive for this right now, but there's no retreat, just the brutal truth of Sam's body. Demanding everything from him. "Sir!"

Sam bites at Ryan's shoulders, _thisclose_ to breaking skin, driving inwards and upwards, the cross bracing Ryan's body perfectly for him. His hand works Ryan's cock, forcing it to stay hard, determined to have him come again before he does.

Howling, Ryan bucks back against Sam. He's a ragged mess, raw around the edges. Straining with every muscle until suddenly something in him shifts, and he pushes into Sam's touch instead of recoiling.

"That's it, boy," Sam murmurs, licking the shell of Ryan's ear. "Fucking give it to me," he urges, driving his cock ever harder into Ryan's ass, his own willpower just barely hanging on by a thread.

Ryan's desperate, exhausted, scared that he just doesn't have anything left in him. But Sam's cock rakes brutally across his prostate and suddenly he's _right there_. He comes again, reeling from the rush, light-headed and hurting and awash in wicked pleasure.

"Good boy," Sam groans, shouting as he follows Ryan over, pleasure crashing over him in tidal waves.

Whimpering, Ryan clutches at his lover's cock, milking him for every searing drop. He drops his head back to rest on Sam's shoulder, letting the cross take his weight.

Sam presses so close, pinning Ryan against the wood, his cock still pulsing inside him. "I love you so much," he whispers, kissing the side of Ryan's throat, brushing his lips over the marks he's left. Deep and dark and lasting.

"Mmm. Love you," Ryan murmurs back, his voice hoarse. "Your hands. Your mouth. Your cock," he says dreamily, still floating somewhere outside himself. "Love... you."  



End file.
